Blood Bank
by say-when-swan
Summary: Supernatural AU: Emma Swan and Killian Jones chose a life of hunting after the nefarious vampire known only as "Gold" murdered those dearest to them. They've tracked him to outside a sleepy town known as Storybrooke...
1. Running You with Red

A bead of sweat trickled down Emma's back as she stalked in front of the devil's trap currently ensnaring a very pissed off demon. She had been hoping, praying that he could assist (however unwillingly) in their search. But after dousing him with a gallon of holy water it was clear he didn't have the information she desired, in other words, was completely useless.

"_Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas_…" she recited, glaring at the black eyed fucker before her, "_mnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio…."_

This one was particularly infuriating because he was smart, almost smarter than her, and therefore evaded her longer than usual. He'd led her on a ridiculous chase through the streets of Atlanta before she'd finally caught him, and while it wasn't yet summer, the humidity was already killing her. She couldn't believe she ever wanted to live in Tallahassee.

Emma faltered slightly as her phone started to ring, "…_et secta diabolica_…" trying to shut out the dark laughter echoing from the demon, undoubtedly at the Star Wars theme blasting from her phone.

"You going to get that?" he croaked, a bead of blood bubbling from the corner of his mouth.

Ignoring him, she continued as her phone undoubtedly went to voicemail, "_Ergo draco maledicte et section_…"

The demon twitched, visibly uncomfortable as she reached the latter portion of the exorcism, he struggled against his bonds as her phone started to ring again, "I really think you should get that," he sneered, the menacing intent ruined by his distressed panting.

Emma paused, considering for a moment, this demon was a low-life and she could take a quick call. She sighed, pausing her memorized Latin spiel, and whipped out her phone, "What?"

"Swan," his lilting English accent drifted through the phone, "At last, I've been trying to pin you down all day."

"Jones," she replied dryly, throwing a glance back at the seething demon, "I'm kind of in the middle of something."

"By all means continue then, lass," he chuckled, "I'll wait."

She rolled her eyes, "Give me a minute," and shoved her phone, call still connected, into the pocket of her leather jacket.

"Now, where was I?" she narrowed her eyes at the demon, "Oh yeah, _ergo draco maledicte et legio secta diabolica._"

Yelling now, he cursed her, threatening to rip her apart, find Jones and rip him limb from limb, positively thrashing in his bonds. Emma did her best to avoid vividly picturing his threats and shouted over him, "_Ut Ecclésiam tuam secúra tibi fácias servire libertáte, te rogámus, audi nos_."

With her final word he yelled and his neck snapped back, facing upwards, smoke pouring from his open mouth and dissipating into the ceiling. She slowly made her way over to the man, now limp against his bonds, head gently dropping down towards his chest. She had sinking a feeling he was dead, he'd been possessed for too long and while she'd been fighting him, the demon didn't seem concerned with his bodily health.

She reached out and cautiously pressed two fingers to where his pulse should've been and found nothing. She quickly untied his bonds and wiped her prints from everywhere in the room. After being abandoned herself, this was the hardest part of every job, that she couldn't give any victim's family closure. Emma sighed, looking around the large room for anything she might have missed and tugged lightly at her braided blonde hair. It was time to go.

She pulled out her phone and pressed it to her ear, "It's over," she muttered, walking outside to her bug and dumping her stuff in the trunk before sliding into the driver's seat.

"You alright there, Swan?" he asked lightly, a note of concern edging in at the last moment.

"I'm fine," she admitted heavily, "The guy didn't make it, though."

"Ah," Jones breathed, in the same line of business as her, he understood the disheartening effect of a loss like this, "At least his soul's his own,"

She nodded to herself and rubbed at her forehead tiredly, it was a small comfort. What she really needed now was a good meal and a full night's sleep, but since Jones was calling, she doubted that was in the cards for her, "So..?"

He cleared his throat, "I've found him."

She sat up so quickly she almost smacked her forehead on the roof of the bug, "For sure?"

"Bobby Singer provided some information pertaining to murders in a small town in Maine," he answered, "It fits better than anything we've seen before and I've got a description of a new person in town with an odd coat that sounds like the crocodile skin one he wears."

"I can't believe it," she breathed, not yet daring to hope.

"Don't take me on my word for it," he said, "I'm in Charlotte, currently lacking a vehicle so if you can pick me up we can travel together."

"Since when has a car not being yours kept you from using it?" The answer was never, Jones was as bad as a pirate, commandeering vessels left and right (thought he always put in a helpful anonymous tip as to its location when he was done using it – maintaining his honor and all).

"And miss your charming company? I wouldn't dream of it," he teased.

Driving alone was nothing new to her, but company on a fifteen hour drive would not be unwelcome. She could even get some sleep and that was the deciding factor. "Fine," she huffed.

"And Swan, have I mentioned that you sound quite captivating when you speak Latin?" she could practically hear the wink and the shit eating grin in his voice, "Absolutely…"

She rolled her eyes, _only fifty times before_, and interrupted him, "I'll see you in a couple hours, Jones."

"Too right, love" he chuckled and hung up.

She stifled the small smile on her face, annoyed that Jones was so easily able to take her mind off topic, even if the attempt was to make her feel better. It didn't matter how she felt, not when it was finally time to avenge Henry. God, _Henry._ Her fingers tightened around her phone, aching to ruffle his hair like she used to when he was goofing off. She would give anything to listen to him talk about his latest wacky secret mission. Operation Dracula, he might call this one.

Emma threw her phone on the seat next to her. A gasping sob echoed from deep within her chest, surprising her with its voracity. This might all be over soon, but even if she stands over Gold as they put him down, it will never bring back her kid.

The night Henry woke her screaming, Emma thought he'd suffered a bad dream but when she ran to his room she saw something much more terrifying than a nightmare, because it was standing right beside him. A man, if you could him that, with stringy hair, a scaly leather jacket and fangs protruding from his mouth was looming over Henry's bed. He'd dragged him out of it and kept him still with a hand around the back of his neck.

She'd rushed the man, only to be dragged backwards by her hair, tears springing from her eyes**.** A petite brunette appeared from the shadows, leering, fangs popping down from above her bared teeth as she pinned her to the ground. Emma had done everything in her power to escape, to get to Henry who was constantly yelling for her. She'd punched, scratched and kicked, screaming Henry's name but the woman's strength was enormous. She felt powerless, struggling as she watched the monster sink his teeth into Henry's neck. Powerless, as she felt the woman's needle like teeth pierce her skin and then only darkness when enough blood drained from her body.

The first thing Emma was aware of upon waking was the spinning. Worse than any drunken night, she kept her eyes shut tight, urging the world to stop moving beneath her. Thoughts slipped away faster than they could form and it was all she could do to think about keeping the contents of her stomach where they were. Looking back, she still hated herself for not remembering right away. _How could she have forgotten?_

Only when she had felt fingers pressed against her wrist did she force her eyes open, letting in her bleary surroundings and a massive headache. A tall man with shaggy hair was checking her pulse and speaking to her, but his words flew through her brain to quickly to understand.

Emma tried to ask what was happening, but as she spoke, her tongue felt heavy and her words came out slurred. The man shushed her and she realized he was pressing a lump of cloth against her neck. _Her neck, why was that important?_

The room started to regain focus and the man's words soon registered as comprehensible. He had reassured her that they were here to help and that he and his brother drove away the monsters. _Monsters?_ He was back to making no sense.

She was in Henry's room, she recognized and as the spinning decreased, Emma decided to chance looking around and tilted her head to the left. The breath she drew in to scream brought the dizziness crashing back down on her. Even as the men offered meaningless reassurances, there was still a decapitated man lying on her carpet, head a foot from its body staring in her direction. Her eyes widened as she saw the fangs resting on his lips.

"Vampires," the man tending her wound offered and with a rush the events of the night came back. _Henry, Henry, Henry._

She bolted upright, determined to stay on her feel, their protests of blood loss falling on deaf ears. Glaring at them, Emma held the bloodied cloth to her neck but advanced on the brother, "Where is he?" she demanded, words just on the wrong side of slurring but the look in her eyes must have convinced him she wouldn't take no for an answer.

Sympathy flashed across his face as he moved away. Emma could see Henry on his bed, eyes closed, too pale and too still. Like a dream she had drifted over to his side, a shaking hand hovering over the punctures in his neck, still smeared with blood. Her fingers dropped gently to his forehead and quickly withdrew at the complete lack of warmth. Henry was gone and in that one night her life was utterly destroyed and in the years since she was just trying to pick up the pieces.

Alone in her car, she cried, unable to restrain herself, head dropping to rest on the steering wheel. She pressed the scars on her neck and cursed the day that she survived instead of him.


	2. That Secret That You Know

**Thank you anyone who followed or favorited! Special thanks to Lisa1972 and campingwiththecharmings for taking the time to comment :) Despite the Supernatural angle this will have a happy enough ending so enjoy! The last chapter will be up by the end of this week.  
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Emma picked up Jones in Charlotte, South Carolina without a hitch and promptly coerced him into driving for hours, waking only north of New York City. They passed the rest of the ride in companionable silence for the most part, occasionally bickering over music or where to stop for a quick bite to eat. (House rules though, she was in charge).

Despite Jones' exasperating nature, he might be the only person Emma wholly trusted and their tentative friendship had evolved past just their desire to kill Gold. They'd met as she entered her second year of hunting. After Henry's death she'd spiraled downward, almost crazed in her need to find his murderer, following supernatural lead after lead always waiting for some sign pointing to the vampire.

This particular lead involved mysterious disappearances and whispers of bodies found drained of blood. As it turned out a djinn was behind those murders not vampires but tied up in its lair, hanging from his wrists is how she found Killian Jones. The only victim left alive, still trapped in dreamland, she dragged him from the abandoned manor house, intending to drop him in her motel and call an ambulance. Fate intervened when he'd woken in her car, incoherently mumbling about a vampire in a crocodile coat. Desperate for answers she'd nursed him back to health and shared her past involving the vampire. Jones was eager to find someone to share his hatred with and wasted no time educating her, about the vampire known as Gold, his mate Belle and Emma's severe lack of formal hunting knowledge.

From what she gathered, Jones started hunting after a demon possessed and ultimately killed his brother. Then, at some point in the recent past Gold had taken something from him as well. In place of a left hand, Jones sported a silver hook, inlayed with runes and symbols to assist in supernatural slaying, the lack of hand courtesy of the vampire. Though he'd never admitted it, she knew that Gold also took someone he loved, the walls around his emotions high and a tattoo on his forearm a silent testament to her. She didn't ask nor did she hold his secrets against him, having only shared minimal details about what happened to her son and he returned the favor.

Over the past couple of years they had spent a lot of time together, chasing down leads and providing assistance on run-of-the-mill jobs. Their search had lasted too long at this point, though that wasn't entirely their fault. The world had gone completely to shit last year (fucking Winchesters and their almost-apocalypse) so they were rather preoccupied. Only once they beat back the influx of nightmarish creatures were they able to resume their search for Gold, finally leading them to the outskirts of this small town off the coast of Maine.

They didn't reach Storybrooke until late afternoon, clouds dark and foreboding, promising rain. It was a sleepy little place, surrounded by woods and the occasional field like the one they were currently parked in. Perhaps Gold thought that it was far enough and small enough to escape their notice but with the internet and chatter on social media the disappearances weren't hard to miss. It was just a matter of sifting through the hundreds of other false alarms they had stuck around to clean up before they found the right one.

After digging into the town records, Emma noted a recently purchased property that looked like a promising place to start. A couple miles outside of town, it was little more than a foreclosed farmhouse and pastures, a perfect place to avoid notice. Both of them couldn't settle their nerves enough to wait and decided not to waste any time finding the last thing they needed was for Gold to catch wind of their presence in town and flee, sending them back to square one.

The first raindrops started falling as they stood in front of her trunk loading their pockets with wooden stake ammo, just in case their scouting went south and they had to fight their way out. Emma shivered slightly and zipped her leather jacket up all the way, trying to burrow into the collar. Jones gave her a sidelong look that she ignored and stuffing her UV flashlight in her back jeans pocket, she quietly shut the hatch door.

"Ready?" he asked, voice almost husky. His dark hair was already damp and starting to drip, but there was a determined gleam in his eye.

Emma nodded and took off down the dirt road which slowly turning into a mud pit, trusting him to follow. They had a little under two miles to walk, before they would be in range the house. It would be an ideal place for the vamps to hide out during the day.

Jones caught up, his footsteps splashing in the growing puddles, but he stayed a step behind, shadowing her. Hopefully he'd understood that she'd rather they walked in silence, mostly because she didn't want to take the chance of being detected and partly because she could already feel her heart pounding in her throat. They had experienced false alarms before, but this lead was more definite than anything they'd heard before and she needed to keep it together.

Thoroughly soaked and a mile and a half later, they cut into the wet underbrush to the right of the road. Despite being unpleasant, the rain was a blessing in disguise. Gold, Belle and likely the rest of their nest had Emma and Jones' scent upping their risk for being caught, but the rain should make them much harder to detect.

Emma did her best to keep quiet, but the ferns and brambles underfoot made total silence impossible. She cringed internally every time a twig snapped trying to place her feet. An occasional muttered curse from Jones' indicated he was having a similar issue.

A few minutes later she raised her eyes and stopped short, they were almost to the end of trees. Beyond lay pastures enclosed by rundown fences and the equally dilapidated farmhouse.

Unprepared for a full stop, Jones crashed into her back, sending her flying forward. Emma threw her hands out, bracing to land in the mud but he snaked his good hand around the waist and pulled her to him before she could fall. Pressed against him for a moment, she shivered, his chest firm behind her and his warm breath tickling the back of her neck. It took another second for him to let go and step away, cheeks slightly flushed.

Emma raised an eyebrow at him and she got his classic sassy head snap as if to say it was her fault in the first place. Before she could give an admonishing rap on the arm, he froze, every muscle tense and eyes fixated on a point towards the farmhouse.

Cursing internally for allowing the distraction, she whipped her head around, searching for movement. Emma bent low to the ground and crept closer to the tree line, hiding behind a thicker evergreen trunk. Peeking out, she could just make out a figure pacing on the porch, but at this distance couldn't distinguish any features.

She silently turned back to Jones, motioning him forward. After carefully picked his way over to her, he crouched just behind her and dug in his jacket for the binoculars. Pulling them out of his pocket, he handed them over, jaw clenching and eyes tracking the figure. She brought them to her eyes, squinting in the fading light. It was a woman standing there, but her back was to them so she couldn't be sure of her identity.

"Who is it?" Jones impatiently whispered in her ear.

The door opened with a bang that they could hear from their hiding place and they both jumped, Jones' hand shooting out to grip her upper arm. Emma stiffened as she focused on the man that emerged, his coat unmistakable and when the woman turned around, she knew. The two embraced and she looked away. Different emotions starting bubbling up within her, but she forced them all down, she could feel after they were dead.

"It's them," she breathed, trembling even as his hand tightened on her arm, "It's him."

Before she realized it was happening the binoculars slipped from her grasp and landed on the ground with a dull thud and a slight splash. The two on the porch broke apart and Emma didn't dare to breathe, Jones' hold on her arm was almost painful now but her mistake seemed go unnoticed as the couple joined hands and sat on the nearby porch bench. She snatched up the binoculars and looped them around her neck.

Bringing her opposite hand up to her arm Emma covered his, gently prying his fingers away. Freed, she slowly turned to him, taken aback at the pure hatred written across his face, body poised as if to spring. "We need to go," she murmured, rising slightly and tugging at his hand. Worlds away, he didn't respond, "We can't risk this," she tried again.

Hell, she wanted to kill him too, but now was not the time to go after Gold, Jones should know that. Frustrated by his lack of response she reached her other hand out and grabbed him at the jaw, his stubble rasping against her fingers. Forcing his face towards her, she hissed, "Killian, we need to go. Now."

Jones blinked at the use of his given name and shook himself out the daze, eyebrows furrowing and jaw no less tense, but he listened. Nodding slowly, eyes cast down, he turned towards Emma and followed as she crept away from the tree line pulling him along. When it was clear that he would come of his own volition she slipped her hand away and continued, not daring to speak until they were back on the road.

It was a miserable hike, the rain only increased in ferocity and daylight was quickly dying. Puddles, inches deep obscured deep potholes and the water seeped its way into her boots further for every one she managed to step in. Soon her feet squelched with every step.

Furious with herself for dropping the binoculars and at Jones for losing control, Emma still couldn't put a name to what she was feeling about finally finding Gold and his nest. It certainly wasn't relief or even anger at seeing him, if she had to put a finger on it she would guess that she was afraid. Afraid of tomorrow and what they would try, afraid of what could happen in they failed, or what would happen if they won.

Glancing ahead Emma could just squint and see the outline of her bug, marking them at a point safe enough to talk. She abruptly turned on her heel, surprising Jones enough to stop, despite the large puddle he was now standing in. "What was that back there?" she questioned, punctuating her accusation with a sharp jab to his soaked, leather covered chest.

His hair was plastered to his forehead, rivulets of rain running down his cheeks and he was splattered with mud absolutely everywhere. Despite the mess he looked, Jones' eyes were clear and hostile, "You're asking me?" he snorted, stepping forward, "You could have just blown the whole bloody operation. I take back what I've said, love, you have a distinct lack of sticky fingers."

Not appreciating the way he was attempting to loom over her, Emma drew herself up so that they were as eye to eye as she could manage. "My mistake was an accident, they were wet and slipped out of my hand. I _know_ it was my fault but you, _you_ lost control."

His mouth twisted into a scowl but he didn't have a retort for her.

She sighed and took a step back, pushing back a soaked lock of hair, "What am I supposed to do tomorrow if you can't even handle seeing him from a hundred yards away?"

The tension slowly dissipated between them as the heat left his eyes and was replaced with the exhausting weight of their long journey, "I –" he started, but she could see the second the shutters closed in him, face schooled into a mask of indifference, before he gruffly said, "Won't happen again," and walked past her.

That certainly was not good enough.

"Killian, stop," she demanded, surprised when he actually listened. She took a few quick steps and was beside him again, "What were you going to say?" she asked.

His eyes flicked down involuntarily to his forearm where his tattoo lay before quickly passing it off as looking at some mud on his hook. His fingers reached to traced the curve of it, studiously ignoring her gaze, but not moving away either.

"That's who Milah is, right?" she pried carefully, hoping she hadn't misjudged the situation. For months now, the need to talk about Henry was overwhelming and had been crawling under her skin until she could hardly stand it. She was breathless, almost desperate to share what happened with someone else. Maybe Jones also just needed someone to listen and stop bottling it up inside.

He met her gaze finally. "She was my love, yes, and he killed her," he said, his usual bravado falling flat, "Is that what you want?" he asked, sounding every bit a broken man, eyes pleading with her.

Emma wanted him to be whole and sane and happy. Certainly none of those things were likely, unless they succeeded tomorrow, and so she said nothing.

She grabbed his hook, the closest part of him to her and started walking towards the car. Jones dutifully walked beside her, boots dragging in the mud and eyes now fixed on her fingers curled around silver.

"She was beautiful, dark curls and gray eyes, even the first time I laid eyes on her," he said softly, not slowing their pace, "Gold kidnapped her before I found the nest and was using her for his personal blood bank, but I stole her away."

He palmed at his brow, a nervous gesture of his, before glancing over at her, "I thought we were safe, and Gods knows why she wanted to stay with me but we fell in love..." he trailed off.

"What happened?" she pressed, running her fingers soothingly across the hook despite the fact she knew he couldn't feel it.

"He found us," Jones shrugged heavily, "Three of his nest held me back as he slaughtered her in front of me. The filthy crocodile didn't even have the mercy to kill me after but left me…" He motioned with the hook, "… like this."

Two sides of a coin, they were, she thought bitterly, forced to watch the person they loved most die, while powerless to stop it. It was fitting then, that they would be the ones to bring down Gold, Belle and the rest of the vamps.

"Your boy?" he asked, locking eyes with her, increasing the lump in her throat.

"Henry," she nodded, it was a relief just to say his name out loud, not just scream it in her dreams. "They came in through his window one night and…" she stopped, unable to describe what had ruined her that night, but she unzipped part of her jacket, shoving aside the collar and her wet hair. "They left me with this."

At the sight of the mangled scar tissue on the side of her neck, he squared his shoulders and set his jaw, determination seeping back into his stride. Maybe talking about their lose ones renewed their focus. Whatever it was, it had to be enough, because it's all they had. Their hatred and knowledge and desperation.

As they reached the bug, Emma let her fingers uncurl from around his hook, stiff and cold from how tight she'd been gripping it. Like a dog, Jones shook himself before wrenching open the stiff passenger door and taking a seat on the towel she'd thought to lay down before they started off.

Emma took a moment to herself, hand on the roof of the car, rain running down her face and rolling off her nose. She looked up, squinting against the falling drops, and stared into the darkened sky. In a dark corner of her heart she had the hope that Henry was somewhere better, but the emptiness inside ensured that that corner rarely saw the light. With a shiver, she realized her toes were numb and she was bone weary. Though unlikely to be rid of her exhaustion until Gold was dealt with, a good night's sleep wouldn't hurt.

She opened the bug door and slid into her seat, receiving an understanding nod from Jones who sat dripping on her upholstery and started the puddle ridden drive back. They kept the silence, only speaking once they were back at the motel to decide what time to wake, before he bid her goodnight.

The second her door shut, she was peeling off her wet layers and hanging them to dry before taking a much anticipated hot shower. Too tired to do anything else, she made due with towel drying her hair and dressing in a simple tank top before eyeing her bed appreciatively. The rainclouds slowly faded away just as she slid under her sheets, dreaming of love and loss before her head hit the pillow.


	3. I Know It Well

**I apologize for not updating this earlier! The muse has been difficult with this one so I decided to split it up more so I could at least post this. There should be just one more chapter after this. Thank you for the kind reviews :)**

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One of Jones' tapes was sending classic rock drifting through the bug's dying speakers as they sat in wait for sunrise. When the words morphed into a garbled unintelligible mess, Jones made a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat and tapped his hook on the tape deck, eyebrows furrowing.

Her hand shot out, fingers wrapping around the curve of the metal, "You know that doesn't do anything," she chastised lightly.

He just hummed in the back of his throat again, but dropped his arm. It was unlike him to refrain from being a snarky jackass about the state of her rundown bug and even she doubted their confessions last night would stamp out the man's high level of sass. Emma narrowed her eyes, just able to make him out the gray pre-dawn light. Her eyes roamed from the clench of his jaw down to his hand, balled tightly in a fist, and followed it back up as he rubbed the stubble peppering his jaw.

She, better than anyone, knew that this was not a normal job. Both of them had poured so much of themselves into this mission for revenge that it was the only thing they had left. As much as she trusted him, Jones was the variable in this plan that worried her. He was devious, smart and even calculating in the way he took down other adversaries, but she had noticed him gradually fraying the closer they got to finding Gold. The last thing Emma needed was for him to completely unravel now that they were finally here. His little stunt yesterday did nothing to alleviate her trepidation.

His eyes flicked to the side and she realized she was still staring fixedly at his face.

She opened her mouth, trying to formulate a question that didn't straight-out ask if he was under control. The question on her tongue died when a small voice in the back of her head reminded her he would almost certainly lie, despite knowing about her ability to catch them. It seemed their little chat last night was laid aside, since when they'd met this morning he was back to walls-up Jones.

Lucky for her, his lies were always tongue in cheek, (quite literally, the little habit was quite distracting) and it was his deliberate signal to her that he didn't want to discuss whatever topic she'd introduced. He had never lied to her with the true intent to deceive, something she appreciated.

She sighed, waving her hand like it was nothing and turned to look out the driver's seat window. Pointedly ignoring Jones' eyes boring a hole in the back of her head, she focused on cranking her window down, letting in a welcome, cool morning breeze. It was spring and when she breathed in deeply through her nose she could smell wildflowers in the adjacent field. The rainclouds had moved on and only wisps of clouds streaked the sky, promising a stunning display of color.

The vamps could hardly have picked a more beautiful place to establish their nest, though they wouldn't appreciate the fiery red and orange light streaming from the rising sun. Too slowly it was climbing behind the trees, opposite of the same skinny dirt road that they were currently waiting on. It was an effort not to shake, both in anticipation and dread.

As she watched the long grass blow in the breeze she relaxed slightly and let her mind wander. Henry would have liked to explore that field, she thought, playing at being a lost boy. He would jump out of the tall grass holding a stick like a sword, challenging her to a pirate duel, stifling giggles. _Henry._ She blinked rapidly and tried to swallow the lump threatening to form in her throat. His bloodless face seared in her brain and waiting every time she shut her eyes.

Sometimes this quest for revenge felt hollow and empty. The feeling was slowly rising in her stomach that once this was done, it wouldn't heal anything. It was a sentiment that had been sitting and waiting for her when she woke. Emma had never given a thought to what she might do after killing Gold. But now that she was so close, it nagged at her until she couldn't ignore it any longer. Keep hunting, perhaps? A normal life seemed impossible at this point, knowing what she did, knowing what was out there in the dark. She couldn't help but think moving on would be the thing her son would have wanted for her.

She turned back to Jones, his bright eyes waiting, searching her face for something. He must have found a question on her features since he cocked his head slightly, "Something on your mind, Swan?"

Emma chewed on the inside of her lip for a second, wondering how to express her apprehension. He waited, eyes never leaving hers. She sighed, looking away briefly and thumbing the tattoo on her wrist, "What happens if we get him tonight? What do we do after all of this?"

His eyebrows twitched up for a moment, like the question surprised him, lips curving into a quick frown.

"Afterwards?" he asked, bringing his hand to fidget with the symbols engraved into the sides of his hook.

"If we manage to kill him tonight, would you still do this?" She pressed, "Saving people, hunting things, or try and life an ordinary life?"

Jones shrugged, avoiding her gaze, "I've never considered it."

_That _was a definite lie. Still not looking at her, he slowly licked his lips, a quirk she had come to associate with him thinking.

"Jones, you know you can't lie to me," she raised her eyebrows at him, only slightly surprised he even tried. She was slightly suspicious, his tongue was refraining from its usual perusal of his mouth just after a lie. He might actually be trying to pull one over on her.

His shoulders hunched slightly, hand still running over the silver glyphs. It was a risk to push him on a day like this, where so much rode on their teamwork, but she desperately needed him to tell her that there could be a life beyond this, something worthwhile.

"Please," Emma asked softly, worried that she was letting too much of herself show, that she was too vulnerable. They rarely let themselves get to that place, she could rightly claim she knew Jones better than anyone on the planet and he, her. She could count the times on one hand they'd dropped their barriers with each other, last night being just a glimmer.

He gradually met Emma's eyes, the need for reassurance she felt reflected in them for a brief moment before he blinked and those walls crashed into place. He licked his lips again. "Love," he said, considering his words carefully, "I've never assumed there would be an afterwards." Jones threw in another shrug, as if this was a statement to be taken lightly.

His words washed over her unpleasantly and with an unexpected burn in her chest cavity, Emma realized what he meant. The self-loathing was so apparent on his features that she didn't even have to guess. "You've never meant to survive this," she articulated, feeling more outraged by the second, voice rising in volume and pitch as she continued. "This whole time you've been planning to go out in a blaze of glory like some fucking _martyr_ for our cause?"

Rather taken aback by her reaction, his eyebrows were threatening to disappear into his hairline, "Darling –" he started, extending his hand toward her arm.

"Don't _darling_ me, Jones," she seethed, glaring at him so furiously that he dropped his hand, "You weren't going to tell me, were you?"

"That's not true," he implored, eyes wide but stamped with guilt that even his walls couldn't hide, "I just didn't want to worry you unnecessarily."

"You're lying to me," she seethed, not needing her lie detector screeching at her to see it. He wouldn't have told her. "How dare you? After all this time? " Her blood was boiling at this point, frankly, she was surprised the vamps weren't smelling it from their nest. "We've done this all as partners and you were just going to sideline me with this? Well, _fuck you_."

Emma's hand was on the door handle and before she could spare it a second thought she wrenched it open, practically tumbling out of the car. She didn't stumble far, just to lean against the hood, her back to the windshield. She hugged her arms around her body and attempted to take a deep breath, wanting nothing more than run from everything. Her fingernails dug into her palms as she tried to use the pain to distract from the fact she was shaking, her fury barely under control.

Minutes passed.

The depth of her reaction was worrying, now that the adrenalin was fading slowly, she was loathe to admit it aloud but deep down she did care for Jones. Even if she wanted to punch his stupid, handsome face at the moment, he was her only friend. He was the only one she'd trusted in a long time, and as tears prickled in the corners of her eyes, she finally unclenched her fists and stuffed them in the pockets of her leather jacket, trying to relax. Tears were literally the last thing she needed right now. She always knew death was a viable risk when hunting, but there was a big difference between searching it out and it being accidental.

It wasn't the suicidal tendencies, a nasty voice in her head sneered, that bothered her most. What really drove the nails into her chest was that she didn't matter enough for him to stay. He was just another person to lose.

The sun finally peeked above the horizon, staining the clouds a deep pink, marking how little time was left until they made their move and they were fighting. As the minutes ticked by she became less confident in the plan they had concocted, not only was she going to have to watch him throw himself through death's door but she had counted on being able to keep her cool. She closed her eyes and took deep breaths through her nose, bringing down her pulse.

The creak of the car door alerted her to his imminent arrival and she tried to palm away the tear or two that escaped her eyes before he saw. But a tentative finger dragging along her right cheek says she missed one.

As she opened her eyes, he leaned on the hood next to her, hand tucked into his belt, his eyes fixated on her with an unreadable expression. He was a calculated distance away, close enough he could nudge her with his elbow if he so desired, yet far enough she wasn't uncomfortable. It was with a pang she realized that he sees more of her than she knew and she's grateful for it.

"Emma?" Jones questioned cautiously, brows drawn up in apprehension, perhaps concerned she would start snarling at him again. His fingers drummed against his belt, matching the rapid beating of her heart.

She reached out, hand as steady as could be and curled her fingers around the crook of his elbow, just above his brace, "You and I, we know how much this all sucks. And I know what it feels like to want to die after all of this, but we can't," Emma searched his face for some sort of understanding, trying to ignore the heat spreading across her cheeks from the intensity of his gaze. "We're a part of something here, we are worth something. Look at how many people we saved trying to find this son of a bitch. And…" she hesitated before taking the plunge, "I don't want you to die."

His head tilted and she swore she heard a tremor in his lilting accent, eyes searching her almost desperately, "I didn't think you cared that much."

"Well, I do," she huffed, only half-heartedly frowning at him. The thick-headed man should have realized by now that the sheer fact that she spend any time with him meant something. She looked away until she felt her blush receding and chanced a peek. His eyes were focused on his arm where her fingers were unconsciously tracing soothing circles on his jacket. He looked up as her fingers faltered, Slightly embarrassed, she gave his arm a little reassuring squeeze before slowly slipping back her hand.

They were teetering on the edge of something dangerous, something uncertain and it scared her. She trusted him though and let herself voice one last fear that had been stewing away from the moment they started their search.

"Nothing matters if we don't finish this today," she sighed, letting the weight of what they were trying to accomplish fall back onto her shoulders.

"If?" Jones chuckled softly, "Swan, if there's one thing I know, we will finish this."

"You really think so?" she breathed, trying to stifle the hope seeping into her veins, staring wide-eyed up at him.

The corners of his mouth twitched up into a smile and he leaned closer, "I've yet to see you fail, in any of this, and that gives me great confidence for what is to come."

Hope blossomed in her chest at the steadfast assurance in his voice. It was as much of an assurance as she would get. Then, as though time had snuck up on them the sun was already hanging above the horizon and the day started. She would just need to trust that they both would come out of this.

As if the move was coordinated, they both stood up at the same time, ready to start. In silence, they loaded up their gear packing extra ammo, Emma strapped her machete to her back and Jones fumbled with his sword belt. They each had a preferred weapon when it came to vampires, it was harder than you'd think to decapitate someone.

They turned to each other and nodded before setting off down the road. The walk seemed much faster than it did yesterday, since they knew the way. Emma almost wished that it took them longer to reach the woods. The bright morning light stood in contrast to the sick feeling building in her stomach and the prickling she felt at the back of her neck.

"I have a bad feeling about this," she hissed at Jones as they picked their way carefully through the underbrush. He gave her an acknowledging nod, his lips pressed in a thin line. The fact that he agreed only sent more nerves dancing through her.

The woods were silent as they crept to the tree line and Emma could hear her heart beat. Seeing no movement at the house standing in the streaming sunlight and she turned to Jones to decide their next move. Almost simultaneously she heard a loud bang and saw him stagger backwards. Off balance, he landed on his back with a pained grunt as Emma threw herself to the ground.

Killian had been shot.

They knew they were here.

She crawled over to him, trying to yank him behind the nearest tree. His breathing was harsh and he pressed his hand to his left shoulder, "Fuck," he groaned.

Brushing away his hand, Emma flung open his jacket to see a dark stain spreading across his black shirt.'

"It's fine, Swan," he growled, "We need to move."

"No it's not," she hissed, "You'll be no use if you bleed out everywhere."

Jones winced as she pressed around the entry wound, "Then bloody hurry up," he forced out between shallow breaths, "It came from the house."

Working quickly she shoved his jacket away and with her knife tore at the stiches at the shoulder seam of his shirt and ripped it away. She was relieved to see that the bullet had pierced just below his collarbone, almost at the socket for his arm. It couldn't have hit any major organs, but was lodged in the muscle of his chest and would render his hooked arm practically useless. Regardless, they couldn't leave the bullet where it was.

"I need you to hold as still as you can," she warned and he nodded, gritting his teeth.

She half knelt on his torso and pinned down his arms. He sucked in a huge breath as she dug her finger into the wound, staring intently at the branches above them. Restraining him proved to be unnecessary as he kept unnaturally still. This must be nothing compared to losing his hand. Still, he was in pain and the veins in his forehead stood out as she found the bullet and pinched it between her two fingers.

As she drew it out he exhaled forcibly, closing his eyes and relaxing at the absence of her fingers. Emma flung away the bullet, concerned about the amount of blood slicked on her hands and leaking from his chest. She bound the wound cutting more strips of his shirt when she needed.

She glanced up nervously every few seconds, paranoid that Gold and his nest would catch them by surprise again. Finally, she sat back on her heels, scrutinizing her work. "That's the best I can do for now," Emma muttered, helping him pull his jacket back on.

He nodded, wincing as he reached into one of his pockets. "I think this is still our best plan," he said, breathing in tense breaths and holding up one of their home made grenades. They were simple, light the fuse, throw it, and wait for their bottle of lighter fluid, gun powder and dead man's blood soaked shrapnel to explode and weaken the vampires before barging in. The problem was, they had assumed they'd have more time before the vampires discovered their presence. "Course we need to get close enough to throw them without getting shot," he said sardonically, "again."

Emma chanced a quick look from behind the tree towards the house and hit the dirt as another shot sent bark flying on the tree just to their right. With a grunt and a muttered curse Jones grabbed her by the back of her jacket and hauled her back to his side. A hand to her cheek came back slightly bloody and she wrenched out the offending splinter, thankful that it wasn't two inches higher and in her eye.

"Ok," she took a deep breath, pushing herself up off her stomach and staying well behind their tree, "We need to split up and approach the house from different directions. Trying from here is only going to get us killed."

He nodded and they started a long crawl back into the woods, Jones had a rough time of it but they only wanted to chance standing when they were well out of sight of the tree line. Finally they straightened, relaxing an infinitesimal amount. The vampires wouldn't come out of the cabin unless absolutely forced out as a result of the beautiful, sunny day so they had a little leeway.

Watching Jones out the corner of her eye, Emma pretended to concentrate on wiping the dirt and blood from her hands on her equally dirty jeans. He was surprisingly steady on his feet but the pallid color of his skin and his pained expression showed how much the hands and knees (and hook) crawl affected him. Despite the sick feeling in her stomach, short of knocking him out, she knew there was nothing she could do to convince him that she should continue on alone. He would hate her for even suggesting it, and she could understand why.

As if he could see her train of thought he fixed her with a stern stare, "I'm fine," he bit out, eyes hot and daring her to say otherwise. Even though it was a lie.

And so she didn't, just kept his gaze till he looked down and away, but not before she saw the pain and the fear he so desperately tried to hide.

Still not looking at her, Jones pushed two of their bottle grenades into her hand and cleared his throat slightly. "I'll trek to the opposite side of the cabin and you'll approach from the left," he said as he secured his grenades in his pocket "I'll send you a text when I'm in position."

Without another word he turned on his heel and took a few steps, as if this was just a plan to meet up for coffee in an hour.

Emma raised her eyebrows at his retreating back. "You know it makes more sense for me to go the long way."

Jones stopped and after a long moment he nodded, "Aye," he said, half turned back, "I suppose it does."

She nodded and took the few steps to reach him, resisting the urge to extend her hand and touch him, "Good luck," she said softly and continued past.

"Swan, wait."

It was her turn to look back. His fingers scratched unconsciously at his neck as his gaze darted up to meet hers, "Be careful."

Emma nodded, swallowing the thick lump in her throat, "Only if you are." She couldn't even fake a light tone.

He opened his mouth to say something, but no words came. Emma knew they were both thinking it. His shoulder massively decreased his odds for survival even if he was trying to stay alive. Death was almost certain if he wasn't.

Still he didn't speak and she couldn't keep standing like this, eyes locked, knowing it might be the last peaceful moment she had with this infuriating, scruffy-faced, handsome scoundrel. The silence turned oppressive, closing down on her and crushing her till she couldn't take it.

Emma tore her eyes away and fled, trying to not think about his blue eyes following her.


End file.
